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have worn something more provocative, or added
something sexy underneath besides a lacy black thong and stockings. Her breasts
weren’t big enough to warrant a bra although she had considered padding her
assets for the occasion. Not that it would matter once he’d seen her naked. She
had very few womanly curves to speak of and there was no way she could hide
that fact from anyone. Nor was she truly tempted to try. If the Bakushi hadn’t found her attractive at their last meeting he wouldn’t have wanted to
meet her again. She had to assume he liked what he’d felt—and he’d felt most
everything, she remembered with a blush.
    Madame Brisson frowned as if she’d read Sakura’s thoughts
when she’d lapsed into introspective silence. “We women come in all shapes and
sizes, ma cherie . You must trust that yours will be just what he
desires.”
    “I do.”
    “Good.” Manette stood and shooed the cat from her lap who
gave them both a petulant meow as he hit the floor and turned his back to lick
one elegant paw. Then Manette bent and retrieved Sakura’s mask, running her
fingers over the cascade of silk cherry blossoms.
    Taking a breath for courage, Sakura turned and let the other
woman fit the mask against her face, tying the laces in place beneath her hair.
    “Excellent,” Manette said, adjusting the fit with a final
twist of her fingers. “Are you ready?” Again that hint of mischief in her eyes.
    “You enjoy this, don’t you?”
    Sakura was startled when the other woman laughed, throwing
back her head in decided amusement. “But of course I do. No woman who comes
here ever leaves the same. She grows. She evolves. Sometimes she even falls in
love. What is more wonderful than that? But no more questions from you. The
time is slipping fast away and we don’t want you punished for being late on
your very first night.” With a shake of her head she took Sakura’s hand and led
her down a flight of stairs and along a richly carpeted hall before depositing
her in front of a black lacquered door. “Good night,” she said, reaching out to
knock twice. Then she opened the door and pushed Sakura through before closing
it tightly behind her.
    He was kneeling in the center of the room utterly still in a
dark-blue kimono, his hands resting on his thighs, his head bowed in formal
tradition. He didn’t say a word in greeting, just pointed to a spot by his
side, but he grunted in warning as she took two steps across the floor, her
heels clicking on the polished wood.
    Her first mistake already. Sakura removed her shoes and
placed them neatly by the door. She was in his world now, traditional Japan in
all its male-dominated glory, and she would have to play by his rules if she
wanted to remain. She studied him from beneath her lashes as she moved to kneel
beside him, trying to see any expression on his face as he finally raised his
head.
    “ Youkoso , welcome.” He placed both hands on the floor
in front of him and bowed until his mask nearly touched the surface.
    Sakura copied the movement, gritting her teeth against the
discomfort of the straw tatami mat beneath her knees. She shifted trying
to make herself more comfortable but froze when he whipped his head up, his
lips turning down in displeasure.
    “You will not move until I give you permission,” he said,
his voice every bit as intimidating as his demeanor. “To perform the ceremony
properly you must learn to disregard your personal comfort for the comfort of
your guests.”
    “ Hai ,” she said, stiffening her spine. If he thought
she’d break so easily, he had another think coming. She’d spent years remaining
still and silent at her father’s order, and although she hated it with a
passion, she could sit seiza with the best of them.
    And she was intrigued enough by the setting to take her mind
off the pain. In the middle of the mat was a large iron pot set on a hotplate,
a cloth napkin, two beautiful ceramic bowls, another pot off to the side